


A Pocket of Cold Air

by HereticWithaPen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)
Genre: Almost Kiss, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Opposites Attract, Tragic Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereticWithaPen/pseuds/HereticWithaPen
Summary: Rey connects with a lonely Kylo Ren through their Force Bond and experiences a near-miss kiss.





	A Pocket of Cold Air

**Author's Note:**

> Basically my other short (You Keep Me Awake at Night), but not smut; just playing with a different writing style. :)

“Can’t sleep?”

A voice, deep and taunting, yanks her eyes open.

Her first feeling, annoyance— him again. Him, in her mind, a nightmare. Worse than a nightmare, because this is real.

She flips, cot digging into her side.

“What do you want, Ben?”

His laugh is dark and distant. Rey summons her hate to shut him out or turn him off like a satellite transmission. It doesn’t work.

“I asked, can you sleep?”

Her teeth grind and jaw clenches. The cot creaks again. He knows the answer. “No.”

“Something we have in common.” The jab rings bittersweet because he knows that misery loves company.

Rey rolls her eyes. This is maddening and the bedding itches her skin and she tosses again, and—

“I don’t know—” they say at the same time. Such awkward enemies.

Rey sucks in a breath, gives a plaintive cry. “Why is this happening?”

Some good sleep, it’s all she wants. It’s been weeks of sweaty skin and bad dreams, hair stuck to her forehead and concerned looks from rebels when she stares too long at empty space.

All she wants is sleep. Well not all…

“I don’t know.” His words catch, uncertain and fumbling.

A flash and he’s there, dark eyes burning, fists clutching black sheets. Moonlight, some moon somewhere, she has no idea, bathes his pale chest. Muscles form smooth valleys across his abs. Again his voice. “When you— when you can’t sleep—” A sigh, long and drawn out, even in thought. “You keep me awake at night.”

A terrible irony. He couldn’t sleep because she couldn’t sleep, and she couldn’t sleep because he itched at her mind, sending ghosting thoughts and unfelt touches driving her senses in circles. What a vicious cycle.

Heat reddens her skin and the vision fades. It’s better this way, when she can’t see him. Easier to bite with words. “So sorry to keep you up.”

Heavy silence from his end, so she stares out her stone hut. He could track her here, maybe. Torture her, strangle her, kill with those dark eyes. But this thing between them, it’s not so specific. Just words, flashes, feelings. Fuck, more than anything, feelings.

And right now, he feels lonely, making her heart echo his ache. She sits up. Faces an empty hut.

“What do you want, Ben?” she repeats even as she feels his answer. Yes he wants company, someone to talk to, all of that, yes, to touch— her.

“I want—” His voice wavers.

There’s a sensation deep in Rey’s chest like tearing metal, shrill and sharp.

“—I want to not feel this way.”

Air leaves her lungs like a ship torn open, empty space rushing in. Her throat burns raw. How could something so cruel be so sad?

She winces, hit with another wave, vicarious pain.

The pit in her center, nestled in rib cage, screams. So hard to breathe.

 _Make it stop, make it stop_. “You and me both.”

Like a plume of smoke, he’s there again, close enough to touch.

“Ben,” she sighs, seeing his face. His deep brown eyes are shiny in the dark, burned by salt. He swipes an arm across his nose, tries to hide. But she doesn’t need to see to know.

He’s close, so so close. Close enough to see freckles and count dewy lashes.

Her lips purse. An idea.

“Maybe I can—” She lifts a hand.

“What?”

“Touch you—”

Fingers stretch, reach through the darkness, past it and into some far beyond. It’s cold where he is. All frigid metal and empty halls. He raises his hand too, mirroring her. Pressing forward.

Their fingers graze, tips brushing skin, and she feels it _really_ feels it. How?

He’s just as surprised, startled even. “Do you—?”

Palm touches palm, his warm and rough against her own. She slides fingers between his, clasping. Frees a sigh. “Yes.”

He trembles, swallows a shuddering breath. Wets his lips. “I didn’t think this was possible.”

His fingers map her hand, tracing bones on top, each knuckle and nail.

It feels so nice, his touch. But it isn’t right. Those hands have killed.

She pulls back, but his grip clutches gently.

“Don’t go,” he says. A mournful request. “Don’t go… not yet.”

Rey reaches out again, slides along his wrist until her fingers feel forearm, strong and taut. He does the same, hand big enough to encircle her arm, encompass her. He could crush her if he wanted. He does want to, right?

“No,” he says simply. “I don’t want that.” They’re both leaned forward now, hands around elbows, arms overlapping. Close enough—

“To crush you… I’d never want that.”

Rey’s breath hitches. He is a magnet, a black hole, a galaxy with gravity to pull. She bends closer. Wanting, needing suddenly. Him to feel her lips on lips. To lose themselves in a kiss.

She closes her eyes, tongue tasting his breath, and then—

A creak and crash— the door slams open to the old Jedi, indignant and judging. The moment feels more intimate than it should, something as simple as an almost-kiss.

Rey’s gaze sweeps back to Kylo, but he’s already gone. _No_ she sighs. _He was here, but— but, but—_

But there’s nothing to miss anymore. Nothing but a pocket of cold air.


End file.
